The Temple Scroll

by D C Macey

  ‘And the ruby is?’ said Helen.

  Sam raised his view from the glass dish to meet her eyes. ‘Who knows? Whatever it is, it’s worth enough for people to be killed over.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Well that cable tie just illustrates the point. It’s the gold thread in your Swiss glass that will prove or break the theory.’

  ‘What we need to do is put the parts together, and that means we need the glass from Switzerland.’

  ‘No problem, I’ll go ASAP. Xavier’s plane is still at the airport. I can go in the morning. But Sam, where is the labyrinth? It must relate to a place in the real world otherwise it’s meaningless. We need to know.’

  He flashed her a confident grin. ‘I have been thinking about that. Each element of the puzzle when viewed in isolation has seemed cryptic. Mostly we’ve been banging our heads against a brick wall.’

  Helen nodded. ‘Just a moment Sam,’ she said while heading for Sam’s fridge where she pulled out a half-empty bottle of rosé. Glancing back at him, she pointed towards the beers resting inside on a chill shelf. Sam shook his head and she shrugged, closed the fridge and picked a wine glass up from the draining board before re-joining him at the table.

  She sat and Sam took the bottle from her hand to fill the glass. He watched her drink a little, saw her cheeks draw in as she savoured the flavour.

  ‘Ah, that’s good. What a day! The hospital with you, then I’ve been coping with James Curry’s mischief and finally I come home to this.’

  She stretched her hand out, resting it on his. ‘Do you really think we are getting close? Tell me more.’

  ‘Close but not there yet.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Remember, I thought our problem has been that we approached this from the wrong end - we started with the daggers first, but they are the final round of clues. They could never have any meaning in isolation.

  ‘The scroll told us to what places the daggers were sent. The church’s window named the churches in those places. The signet ring confirms the legitimacy of the individuals, the task bearers who protect the daggers. The daggers, once combined create a plan of a labyrinth and your glass plate with its gold thread is the route through the labyrinth. And finally, X marks the spot.’

  ‘The ruby.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So all we’re missing is the location of the labyrinth? Oh, and the final dagger,’ the enthusiasm in Helen’s voice faded a little, ‘which we think is in the hands of our enemy.’

  ‘I think I have some answers in those respects too.’

  Helen put her glass down and rested her elbows on the table. Placing her chin in her cupped hands, she fixed Sam with an intense stare. ‘Well?’

  ‘For all its cryptic mystery, when you follow the leads in the correct order, it’s a relatively simple process, and certainly would have been for any of your predecessors in the parish, each of whom would have known about the hidden scroll and the symbolism in the window. They were the custodians of the parish dagger with its index list of numbers and of the gold edged glass plate. Your predecessors were the trusted ones. They didn’t have the knowledge, but they had the tools to find the knowledge when it was needed. They knew how to put it together.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got all that.’

  ‘Okay, but think, if you are in the know and just follow steps one, two and three, in the right order, you can’t go wrong. It’s virtually impenetrable for outsiders but easy for the informed user since the apparently cryptic is always actually quite literal. So I think the sign of the labyrinth, just like the other signs, means exactly what it shows us. It means a labyrinth and it means on the island of Crete.’

  ‘But you said the maze on Crete was only excavated last century and it had been buried since antiquity. The Templars could not have known it was there.’

  ‘Right. But the island has always been associated with the labyrinth of the Minotaur. I think the Templars must have had knowledge of another maze, not the palace maze of King Minos. I think there is another maze on Crete and we need to find it. While you go to Switzerland to retrieve the gold framed glass, I’m going to Crete. We need to move fast before anyone gets the same idea.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Helen. ‘I’ll go with your interpretation, but what about the missing dagger, the French dagger?’

  ‘The number sequence on the parish dagger starts with a two. That’s the missing blade, the French dagger. Logically it should be slotted in first, there at the top end of the plate, against the plain side of the frame farthest away from the lapis lazuli. I think that blue colour represents the coast and see how the gold thread runs from the blue through the glass to the ruby and on to reach the other end of the frame - the plain gold side, where the number two dagger should slot in. If I’m right, there are two approaches to the ruby, the treasure, one from the sea, and one from inland. If so, we don’t need the final dagger. If we approach from the seaward side, we have all the parts we need.’

  ‘Wow. That would be brilliant. But why would there be two routes?’

  ‘I guess because there are, I’m not sure. Remember it’s a secret. Perhaps it was an insurance, in case a part of the labyrinth collapsed - an alternative access route. We’ll never know for sure.’

  ‘I’ll go to Switzerland tomorrow; get in position to collect the gold framed glass as soon as the bank opens on Monday morning. I guess I’ve done everything I can for now to support Elaine here.’

  ‘Yes, but what exactly have you been up to? You’ve been very secretive. Is there any hope of staving off the developers or whoever it is?’

  ‘Not secretive, Sam. Discreet! It would be wrong of me to give Elaine and the others any false hope. Yes, I spoke with David Cromarty to see if there were any legal angles to exploit or ways of blocking the closure of St Bernard’s, but that wouldn’t work. So I’ve done what I can - don’t want to say anything that might mess things up. So let’s just wait and see how it plays out. Fingers crossed!’

  ‘Yes, if that’s all we’ve got, its fingers crossed then. Though I thought you were more the praying type!’ Sam looked at Helen. She smiled back at him with her particularly innocent smile that could open closed doors and stop passing taxis. It told him nothing. ‘Hmm,’ he said.

  ‘Much as I want to help the parish, right now I need to focus on this problem. What will you do? Come with me to Switzerland?’

  ‘No, I think I should head directly to Crete, start having a look around. I’ve already booked myself a flight for tomorrow. I think we’re ahead of the pack right now, let’s keep it that way. I’m going to phone father Andreas just now and ask if he will send one of his people to Crete, to act as a translator for me.’

  ‘Good idea. But where will you start your search? It’s a big island.’

  Sam held up her photograph of the gold framed glass. ‘Assuming you have it oriented correctly, and I think you have, the lapis lazuli blue is positioned on three sides and I think the lapis represents water, the sea. See the little Templar cross on this side, beside the right hand strip of lapis. I’m taking that cross as marking the top of the frame. The projection of the Mappa Mundi put east at the top. I’m assuming, if they do share the same origin, they’ll using the same projection. He twisted the photograph to put the edge with the cross at the top. Now, see, lapis at the top, east. Lapis on the right side, south. And lapis on the bottom side, west. That would mean the left side of the frame is north, where the plain gold is.

  ‘So, viewed in the round, I’m guessing it represents a headland, on the south coast of the island, bounded by the sea on three sides with land to the north side. I’m going to work on narrowing it down further right now.’

  CHAPTER 30 - MONDAY 9th SEPTEMBER

  The morning sun was hot, the air still. Cassiter was quite motionless; he stood on a carpet of tinder dry grass amidst a stand of slender cypress trees that screened him from any searching eyes. Behind him, green scrub bushes climbed up to a ridge. In front, less
than twenty metres beyond the trees, was an archway leading into a courtyard. He could see several bullet holes in the arch. The raw edges told him these were recent additions to the patina - very recent.

  Two of Parsol’s men were missing, assumed dead, and based on the location of their final phone transmissions they probably died near here. Cassiter did not care about the deaths, Parsol’s men were disposable, but it was useful to know, useful to avoid underestimating an opponent. He and his little group had been joined by four more of Parsol’s men. These had already been detailed to circle round to the far side of the building. Their only job, to ensure nobody on the inside could escape from the rear.

  Once Cassiter had received the signal that Parsol’s men were in place, he moved. Unhurried, he walked the few paces to the archway, a man from his own team walking to either side of him. He looked through the archway and could see a broad courtyard; on the far side were the main entrance doors to the building.

  They walked under the arch and continued at a steady pace towards the main entrance. The group had almost crossed the courtyard when a big black SUV broke the crest of the hill behind them. It kicked up a cloud of dust as it powered down the little track and came to a halt under the arch, blocking the exit. Robertson and another man got out and walked to the front of the SUV where they stopped to survey the courtyard.

  Cassiter had reached the steps leading up to the front doors before any occupants realised there was a problem. He glanced to his left where the chapel bell had started ringing out an alarm. Turning back towards the archway, he stretched out an arm, pointing towards the chapel. Instantly, one of the men standing at the SUV sprinted towards the sound.

  As Cassiter and his wingmen entered the front doors, the distant sound of a door breaking reached them. It was quickly followed by the reports of three gunshots and the bell fell silent.

  Standing in the central stairwell, Cassiter sent his two men along the shadowy corridors to left and right. They swiftly and methodically checked each of the windowless ground floor rooms, mostly storage. Having found no one, they rejoined him at the stair. With a wave of his neat little pistol, he directed his men up.

  On reaching the first floor his lead man gasped and fell backwards, dropping his handgun to desperately claw at his throat. His shirt soaked with blood as he wheezed and gasped in distress and fear. A crossbow bolt had punched through his windpipe and travelled on to lodge in the wooden panelled wall beyond.

  Quickly stepping over the body, Cassiter left him for dead. Ahead he could see the cause of the wounding. A middle-aged priest was urgently engaged in reloading a crossbow. Bringing his pistol to bear Cassiter fired off two rounds. The priest screamed as a shot tore through his thigh muscle and then he was hit in the lower abdomen; he fell.

  Having carefully checked the corridor to left and right Cassiter stepped across the landing to where Father Manos lay curled up in pain, hands pressed to his belly.

  Cassiter kicked the ancient crossbow away and then, looking down, he admired his handy work. One shot in the leg, ensuring the target went nowhere in a hurry. One shot in the lower abdomen, ensuring a long painful death, with plenty of scope to inflict further punishment should the man not oblige during interrogation. Cassiter smiled to himself. He still had it.

  He knelt down behind Father Manos, his knees against the small of the priest’s back. Then, slipping a hand beneath the wounded man’s shirt, he forced his probing fingers between the priest’s wounded belly and protective hand. Cassiter straightened his middle finger and pressed it into the bullet hole. He heard the screams, the sound multiplying as echoes reverberated back and forth along the corridor. He felt the priest’s back straighten then arch as the man tried to roll away from the penetrating finger, Cassiter’s knees locked him in place. After a few moments of probing, Cassiter pulled his finger out and the priest curled into a foetal ball, protecting the wound.

  ‘Can you hear me priest? How many people are in the building?’ He waited for an answer. None came, just a steady groaning. Cassiter’s hand slid into the curve of the priest’s belly, forced its way back beneath the wounded man’s protective hands - hands that were now too weakened by shock and pain to resist him. Quickly, Cassiter’s middle finger forced itself back into the wound - pressing the edges, wriggling, working deeper into the hole. Again, the screams echoed up and down the corridor, washing over Cassiter like a refreshing shower.

  He watched deadpan as the man’s pain continued pulsing with every wriggle of his penetrating finger. He allowed himself some moments to drink in the suffering.

  ‘How many of you are in the building, priest?’

  ‘Four,’ said Father Manos, teeth gritted against the pain. ‘Four. Stop. Stop. Please stop.’

  To a deep groan from the priest, Cassiter allowed his finger to slide out of the wound. Cassiter was interested to note the priest’s eyes were half-open, watching Cassiter’s pistol rise, but making no attempt to avoid what was coming.

  The shot punched a hole in the priest’s skull. Death was instant, and welcome.

  Cassiter wiped his hands clean on the dead priest’s clothing.

  The surviving wingman suddenly redirected his attention down the stairs where he had sensed someone’s approach. Then he relaxed, lowering his pistol as he recognised his colleague who had just dealt with the chapel’s bell ringer. They exchanged nods of acknowledgement and joined Cassiter in the corridor.

  ‘How many in the chapel?’ said Cassiter.

  ‘Just one, he’s been dealt with,’ said the newly arrived.

  Cassiter nodded approval. ‘Then there are two more alive in the building. I don’t want them dead until they have given me the information I need. Wounding’s fine.’

  The team worked along the corridor, checking rooms, moving on. It took only a couple of minutes of careful searching for them to reach the long reception room that fronted the building. Cassiter stepped into the room, which at first glance appeared empty. As he took in the full length of the room, he saw a movement behind the desk at the far end and brought his pistol to bear on the target. Looking along the barrel, he thought for a moment the old man was trying to hide, then he realised he was sitting in a wheel chair. Keeping the pistol trained on the target, he paced steadily towards the desk.

  ‘Where is everyone, old man?’ said Cassiter.

  ‘I am alone and, more to the point, who are you to burst into my home?’ said Father Andreas.

  Cassiter smiled at the old man. ‘Your home? Is this your place?’

  ‘It is God’s place and you have no right to be here. You are not welcome.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’m quite used to not being welcome. So, I think you are in charge here. Where are your people?’

  ‘I will not speak with you.’

  ‘Then I will break you, old man.’ Cassiter rounded the desk to stand beside Father Andreas. Having checked the old man was unarmed, Cassiter laid his pistol down on the desk. He gripped the wheelchair’s joystick and manoeuvred the priest out from behind the desk, giving himself more room to work in. Without a moment’s hesitation, he took the old man’s left hand in his and forced the middle finger back a little. He paused, looked into his victim’s eyes and smiled thinly. ‘Are you sure you have nothing to say?’

  Cassiter felt a little thrill; now, he thought, now. He applied more force to the finger, eye contact was broken as Father Andreas suddenly arched in his chair, pulling his hand away but there was no escape. His finger snapped, first at the middle joint, then, as Cassiter forced the stub back yet further, the sinews of the knuckle joint itself ripped and parted.

  Father Andreas howled in distress, Cassiter took the broken hand and raised it by the wrist; he inspected his handy work. Satisfied, he selected the index finger and began to work it gently back and forwards.

  ‘Priest, you have something I want. Give it to me now.’

  Cassiter’s men had crowded in to watch the show. The taller of the two had seen it more than once before b
ut always enjoyed the spectacle. The shorter, a newer recruit, had only heard stories of Cassiter’s technique. He was determined to take it all in.

  ‘Priest, tell me where you have hidden your dagger. I know you have one. I want it.’

  ‘There is nothing for you here in God’s house.’

  Cassiter looked at his men. He smiled at them. ‘These priests, they always seem to put up a good resistance. But he will break.’ Cassiter let his own fingers release Father Andreas’ index finger and return to the broken middle finger. He gave the grossly distorted digit a gentle twist and then pressed, compressing the breaks.

  Cassiter wondered how far the screaming sounds would carry and looked out of the window towards Robertson while he snapped another finger.

  The priest’s renewed screams filled the room and carried through the glass of the closed windows, it travelled on across the courtyard to Robertson who still stood beside the SUV. An old hand, Robertson knew exactly what was happening and grinned while glancing up at the window. Experience had taught him that whoever was suffering, they would break soon enough. Cassiter spotted the head movement; it was clear Robertson could hear. The old man had a good pair of lungs on him.

  Turning his attention back into the room, he instructed his men to continue the search of the building and find the priest who remained unaccounted for. But just as he started to focus on the old priest’s thumb, his plan began to unravel.

  He was not quite clear about what exactly happened, it played out so quickly in the corner of his eye, but now Cassiter found himself in a spot of bother.

  His two men had followed the search instruction, choosing to leave by the little door close to the bookcase. The shorter of the two men pulled open the door leading into the corridor then stopped. As he swung the door in, it had been followed by a swinging broadsword. Cassiter’s man swayed. The blade chopped in a sideways arc, brushing against his shoulder and sweeping on, slicing into the neck. The head hit the ground while the body still stood, rocking gently, and squirting blood against the ceiling. It toppled down as the priest pushed past.